*
Over the next week, Vincent’s bruises turned impressive shades of purple and spread down his cheek in greens and yellows. The swelling reduced, making it more obvious how bloodshot his left eye was. It was impossible for Jane to look at him without recalling what had caused it. If the mere impulse to hit someone caused bodily harm, Jane’s thoughts would have flayed Lord Verbury.
But giving way to her frustration and anger would do Vincent no good, to say nothing of her own state. There was a notable increase in the frequency of pains when she was agitated. So Jane turned that weakness into a strength. If she could not leave the bed, and if she needed to remain calm, then she would make their bedchamber a refuge for her husband.
She lay on her left side with Vincent curled against her back. One of his arms lay nestled against her chest. He seemed to actually be asleep, which was not the case every night, so she tried not to move in response to the discomfort that had awakened her. Jane looked to the shelf clock to note the time. Twenty past midnight. Trying to ease the tension, she inhaled slowly.
Jane smelled smoke.
Frowning, she lifted her head, peering through the sheer lawn curtains and out the window. The moon was only a thin crescent, but dull orange glowed at the base of the frame. “Vincent.”
He made a soft grunt.
Jane turned and shook his arm. “Vincent. Wake up.”
He startled into wakefulness, half sitting. “What is it? Are the labour pains—”
“I think something is on fire.”
A glance at the window had him out of bed. He crossed the room and flung the veranda doors open. The charred sugar smell increased. Vincent swore, and then ran back into the room, snatching his breeches from the chair he had hung them on.
He continued on to the door and flung it open. Leaning into the hall, he bellowed, “Fire! Alarm the house! Fire in the cane fields!”
Jane sat up, pushing the mosquito netting aside. She could just see over the edge of the window, but as the house sat on a hill, she could not get a clear view of the fire.
Hastily, Vincent drew his breeches on, not troubling to change out of his nightshirt. “Ring for Nkiruka. I want someone with you in case the wind shifts or Pridmore shows up.”
“Do you think he set it?”
“One field might be natural.” Vincent shoved his feet into his boots. “This is all of them.”
Thirty-one
Fire and Smoke
For the first quarter hour, the great house was filled with frantic activity, as everyone who was able was roused to try to fight the fire. Pinned in bed, Jane listened to people running past. Nkiruka, wrapped in one of Jane’s old robes, lit a candle and sat by the door to the balcony to report on what she could see from the house.
All Jane could do was sit in bed, pick at the counterpane, and listen.
After that first quarter hour, the house fell into deep stillness as it emptied. Even the coldmongers went to help. Still, Jane strained her ears, trying to tease some knowledge out of the air. If Pridmore was out there and setting fires, what might he do to Vincent? With such a slender moon, the night would be very dark. That started a whole new string of worries about what might happen to Vincent near a fire. The memories of the people burnt in the distillery accident rose in her head.
Jane slipped a hand between the pillows and her lower back, trying to massage away a dull ache of tension. “Has anything changed?”
“If anything change, me’ll tell you.”
“I know. I am sorry. I know you will.”
As the ache in her lower back spread in a band around her middle. Jane closed her eyes and tried to calm down. “What time is it?”
“Another?” With a grunt, Nkiruka got out of her chair and carried the candle to the shelf clock. “Ten to one.”
That was only a half hour since her last. Jane put her hand against her stomach, which was hard and tight. “I am going to lie down, but I shall not be asleep.”
“Na worry, sec. Me’ll tell you wha me see.”
“Thank you.” Jane slid down in the bed. She curled onto her left side, face turned towards the window, and waited. The orange glow had grown brighter against the night sky.
The scent of smoke grew as well as the hours carried it on a steady breeze towards the house. Nkiruka held a handkerchief to her mouth and coughed into it.
“Do you want to shut the veranda door?”
Nodding, Nkiruka stood and bustled to the door. She paused to step onto the veranda and lean on the rail to look across the valley floor. When she came back in, her face was tight. “My house on fire.”
“Oh no. Oh, Nkiruka. Your grandchildren … do you need to go?” Jane pushed herself up on one elbow, trying to see out the window.
“Me too slow. Nothing cyan do by the time me get dey. Dolly will mind them.” She twisted the tie on her robe, still looking across the valley. With another cough, Nkiruka shut the veranda door. “Dem safe with Dolly.”
“I am certain you are right. Of course they are safe.”